Vatican Knights

by Jones, Rick

  The president rubbed the fatigue from his eyes. “What else have we got?”

  Hamilton spoke. “The tape is in fluent Arabic. And, of course, there are the demands.”

  President Burroughs closed his raw eyes once again; his tension headache was coming on like a bull. Hamilton continued his summation of the video, citing the demands. All occupation by American and Allied forces was to cease immediately, all Arab prisoners held by the occupying forces were to be released, and Israel was to be removed from Arab soil.

  “They’re not asking for much, are they?” the vice president offered sarcastically. “And I’m sure Israel will just get up and leave in a heartbeat.”

  “They know we can’t meet their demands,” said the president.

  “What about the tape itself?” asked Bohlmer. The vice president leaned forward. “Has anything been determined from the background noise, or perhaps the visual background?”

  “The lab is still working on it, sir. But right now—”

  “But right now we have nothing,” the president interrupted angrily.

  “All we can do, Mr. President, is beef up law enforcement in this area to keep them from slipping in and out like they did last night.”

  “They won’t follow up their actions with a repeat performance,” said Shari. “What they did last night was in return for showing the world their identities. It’s point-counterpoint. Even though we tagged them, they still came into our front yard and placed the governor right on our doorstep. They’re showing the world that they’re still in control. And now that they’ve achieved their objective, they know that the net will tighten. They’ll be much more careful next time.”

  The president slapped an open palm against the tabletop. “There will be no next time, people, which means I want answers! Not guesses!” He released a frustrated sigh before regaining composure. “What I want to hear,” he said evenly, “what I want to know is what we’re doing right now to find these people.”

  “Mr. President, if I may,” said Attorney General Hamilton. “As Mr. Johnston already pointed out, we are examining the tape further. However, given that the tape seems to show a background consistent with an abandoned building, we’ve engaged the services of county and state law enforcement to search all vacant buildings within a hundred-mile radius.”

  “That may take forever,” the president commented.

  “Yes, sir, but we have nothing else to go on.”

  The president’s headache came on in a rush. “Ms. Cohen, you know these people, their culture. What do you expect to happen next?”

  Shari held nothing back. “I expect, Mr. President, that they will kill a member of the Holy See.”

  “Not the pope?”

  “No, sir. I believe the Soldiers of Islam are trying to build momentum. They want to push this country into a state of panic. Their dominance is fostering pride within Arab nations who are uniting against a common enemy, which happens to be the most powerful nation on earth. They are, Mr. President, trying to create their own sense of invincibility.”

  The president had never felt so impotent. “God forgive me, but I really don’t know what to do at this point.” He turned to Thornton. “Al?”

  Thornton shook his head. “For the moment, Mr. President, you need to address the world and tell them what they want to hear.”

  “What? That the pope is going to die unless we get a break?”

  “No, sir. You need to tell the world in an official statement that we are working with the nations of the world in a unified effort to secure the release of the pontiff.”

  “They already know that!”

  “Yes, sir, but the world needs to be reassured that every possible effort is being made.”

  “I agree,” said the vice president. “Right, wrong or indifferent, Jim, we need to show the world that we’re still a pillar of strength.”

  The president turned to Shari. “Ms. Cohen?”

  “Right now the Soldiers of Islam definitely have the upper hand. But the image we project to the world must be one of confidence and unity.”

  The president chewed his lower lip. “How long do you think I can play this game, Ms. Cohen, until the international community figures out our strategy?”

  “As long as it takes to buy us some time.”

  “Does that mean you’re confident in your ability to find this cell?”

  “It means, Mr. President, I need time to look deeper into the matter.”

  The president remained silent. The whole room was silent.

  “Ms. Cohen, we’re running out of time, and the world is running out of patience. What can you tell me that would be fact rather than conjecture?”

  “I can safely say, Mr. President, that there’ll be more executions before we get a handle on this.”

  It was not what the president wanted to hear. “Have the staff draw up a positive news release,” he said. “And let’s hope the world buys it hook, line and sinker. And, Ms. Cohen?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Your expertise in this matter hasn’t impressed me much, thus far. I need facts.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m working on it.”

  He leaned forward. “Work faster.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  There are options in every situation. Since Shari had not agreed to an all-out alliance and the timeframe to secure the pope’s well-being was becoming increasingly limited, Kimball opted to appropriate information from Agent Cohen.

  Pertinent information took time to gather and analyze, and not a moment was to be wasted.

  In the vault beneath the Sacred Hearts Church, Kimball Hayden aided Leviticus in sorting through the electronic gadgetry required to maintain surveillance on Shari Cohen. Although Kimball had the skills to set up shop, Leviticus was the expert in computer and electronic surveillance.

  He meticulously studied every component necessary to capture pertinent data. First he chose a Keystroke Logger program, a downloadable disc that records and obtains passwords and encryption keys and bypasses all security measures.

  Next was a laptop computer, a Plexiglas parabola dish, a receiver, wireless headsets, several tiny audio bugs, and a mini-thermal imaging camera.

  He mentally ticked off the items and shot a thumbs-up to Kimball. “That should do it,” he said.

  “How long to get in and out?”

  “The camera and dish can be set up inside the mobile unit here at the archdiocese. The bugs will have to be placed in the high-traffic areas of her residence and inside the phones. You can do that. But to download the software—” He cut himself off, his mind calculating. “I’d say anywhere between twenty minutes and half an hour. It all depends on the speed of her computer, not to mention the time I’ll need to disable any detection ware she may have.”

  Too long. “You have fifteen minutes . . . tops.”

  Leviticus wasn’t sure of the targeted computer’s specs or whether it had the capacity to download his program that quickly. “I can’t force this, Kimball. It’ll depend how cooperative her computer is.”

  Kimball stared at the wild tangle of gadgetry on the table. “Do what you can,” he said. “We’ll need to be in and out of there quickly.”

  Leviticus nodded agreement and gathered the equipment.

  Kimball’s option was about to be initiated.

  #

  Washington, D.C.

  September 25, Early Afternoon

  Shari fumed. She understood the president’s frustration, since he was the one under international scrutiny, but to humiliate her in front of everyone in that room was wrong. Given what little she had to go on, she was doing her best.

  Her anger subsided as she turned her Lexus onto International Drive, the street where Israel’s largest embassy in the world was located.

  After showing her credentials to the guard at the gate, she was detained until every facet of her identity could be confirmed through the international data banks. Once done, she was finally waved through.


  When she entered the embassy she was amazed by the immensity of the building’s rotunda. The cathedral ceiling was several stories tall with tiers of floors visible from the foyer. Alongside the information booth a massive directory was anchored to a black onyx wall. The directory stretched almost twenty-five feet in length. Shari traced her finger along the pane until she came to Defense & Armed Forces Attaché. The first name listed was that of A. Obadiah in Suite 312.

  After taking a crowded elevator to the third floor, she got out and made her way to an open reception area. Sitting behind a semi-circular Lucite desk, a receptionist with a well-cultivated smile greeted her.

  “May I help you?”

  Shari flipped open her credentials wallet. “I’m Special Agent Cohen of the FBI. I called yesterday asking to speak with Mr. Obadiah the moment he returned from his trip.”

  The receptionist nodded her recollection. “Yes, of course, I remember. He did receive your message because I gave it to him personally along with his other messages. Is he expecting you?”

  “Actually, he never returned the call.”

  The receptionist’s plastic smile evaporated from her overly cosmetic face. “Well, that’s probably because he’s very busy.”

  “I’m sure. But could you please ask him if I can have a moment of his time? It’s important. I promise it won’t take too long.”

  “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she stated.

  After dialing Obadiah’s extension the receptionist spoke into the lip mike in a falsely jovial tone, and then informed Shari that Mr. Obadiah was on his way to greet her.

  In less than a minute, Abraham Obadiah entered the reception area wearing a smile that appeared genuine and pleasant. The contrast between his pale complexion and raven dark hair gave him a vampire-like quality which made his lips appear redder than they actually were. Beneath his chin was a horrible pink scar in the shape of a wedge.

  “Agent Cohen,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  With a gesture of his hand, Team Leader directed Shari to his office.

  #

  Leviticus was not only quick, but meticulous. He had placed the Keystroke Logger program within Shari’s PC to obtain addresses and information that would enable him to hack into every database she visited. Hopefully, enough data could be gleaned to provide them with some solid leads.

  While Leviticus downloaded the program, Kimball was securing the audio bugs in high traffic areas, when he came upon a curio cabinet bearing nothing but framed photos. In one shot Shari was alone, smiling, beautiful. In another she posed for a family portrait with the husband and kids, but the smile appeared false, a mere gesture for the camera. Other photos showed snippets of time, captured mostly when they were on vacation: at Disneyland, at Sea World, at Lion Country Safari. And another photo stood alone off to one side, as if in homage.

  The photo showed an older woman whose face had seen harsh times. Kimball knew the look well. He had seen it many times in Third World countries where innocent people often fell prey to the harshest brutalities. But what this woman had witnessed must have been something beyond human comprehension. It was written all over her face. Yet there was toughness about her, an unfeigned courage. And Kimball had seen the same thing in Shari’s picture, a certain strength imbued with beauty.

  He opened the door to the cabinet and traced a gloved finger around the edges of Shari’s photo. Her smile was dazzling, her teeth pure white, and her almond-shaped eyes gave her a truly exotic appearance. Underneath it all he could see the strength handed down to her by the old woman. They were both magnificent.

  Then, “How much longer?”

  Leviticus never pulled his eyes away from the monitor. “Almost there,” he said. “I’m running a scan to see if everything’s doing what it should be.”

  Once everything was in place, the hardware tested and the computer downloading the program faster than anticipated, Leviticus shot a thumbs-up. Everything seemed to be in order.

  Whatever information Shari Cohen possessed would soon be acquired through cyberspace. But Kimball knew this was an absolute long shot, and so did Leviticus.

  Once the location was sanitized, they left the premises as quickly and quietly as they had entered.

  #

  Abraham Obadiah spoke with a thick accent. “I apologize for not getting to you earlier,” he said. “But I’ve been busy . . . just getting back and all.”

  “Of course.”

  “I understand you wanted to see me regarding the pope, yes?”

  “I do.” She reached into her purse, pulled out the CD, and held it up in plain view. “As you know we are working with several intelligence agencies throughout the world regarding the pope’s kidnapping, and Mossad sent us information regarding the eight members of the Soldiers of Islam.”

  “And I do hope you found what you were looking for.”

  “To a degree,” she said, placing the CD on the desktop.

  “So why come to me?”

  “Well, for one thing, your name is on the disc.”

  Obadiah’s features remained neutral as he unknowingly traced his fingers across the scar at the base of his chin. “I was the one who created the data?”

  “Your signature is on the CD, yes.”

  He shrugged and flipped his hands into the air as he spoke. “It’s possible,” he said. “And you say Mossad sent you this information?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, that’s simply because all agencies in Israel work in collusion with one another. Information gathered is accumulated into a single informational body. And, of course, data from Mossad is often shared with the Attaché and vice versa.”

  “I understand that, but my question is why would Mossad send encrypted data on low-level documents such as dossiers, knowing that valuable time is being wasted trying to decode encryptions that our equipment can only fractionalize?“

  “You’d have to ask Mossad.”

  “But it’s your name that’s attached to the encryptions. I thought maybe you could help me break this down.”

  Obadiah looked steadily at Shari. His fingers continued to stroke the scar on his chin.

  “Mossad sent you information that was attached to the body of text regarding the Soldiers of Islam but not specifically related to it,” he said. “The reason why it’s encrypted is because the non-related issues hold no value for you or your investigation. Only for Mossad. Therefore, Mossad makes decipherable only the information your agency asks to see.”

  “But why would Mossad attach such data to the body of information regarding the Soldiers of Islam if the data itself is not related to the topic? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Obadiah was losing patience. She was pressing him, and hard.

  “The encryptions are somewhat similar to your Freedom of Information Act, which, if I may candidly say, is a joke since more than seventy-five percent of your government’s documents are blacked out before they reach the public eye, leaving the balance of the information useless.” Obadiah set his eyes on the CD. “The encryptions work on the same principle.”

  “Then it does have something to do with the Soldiers of Islam. Something you wanted blacked out.” She leaned forward. “Mr. Obadiah, we’re talking about three pages of encryptions here. I need you to tell me what’s on those pages.”

  His black eyes snapped at her, then back to the disc. “Those three pages contain nothing regarding the Soldiers of Islam. That is the truth.”

  “Then what does it contain?”

  “Information that is not for your eyes, so if I may have the disc—” He reached for it, but her arm reacted with the quickness of a serpent’s strike as she snatched it from the desktop.

  Obadiah shook his head in response, thinking her action to be juvenile. Then, coldly, he said, “That information is the property of the Israeli government.”

  “That was given freely to the American government.”

  After a slight hesitation he wave
d his hands at her. “No matter,” he said. “The data cannot be decoded by your software, as you have already stated.”

  She placed the CD in her purse, hardly believing the turn in the conversation. One moment he was congenial, the next he was distant and uncooperative. “You still want to be evasive as to what’s on this disc, Mr. Obadiah?”

  “As a representative of the Israeli government, I’ll file a grievance with your government if you wish to pursue this further. We gave you the requested data regarding the Soldiers of Islam in good faith. And now you wish to hold us accountable for the part of the informational body that, as I have already expressed to you, has nothing to do with the terrorist regime.”

  “Mr. Obadiah, we both know you’re being vague for a reason. What that reason is I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. If you wish to file a grievance, then do so.”

  Obadiah didn’t move from his chair as Shari stood.

  “I’ll see myself out, thank you.”

  The man had no intention of showing her the way but added one last comment. “I will get that disc, Ms. Cohen.”

  “That’s between you and my government. So have fun with your grievance.”

  As she was leaving, Team Leader once again traced the tips of his fingers across the blemish of his scar.

  He now had a thorn to contend with.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Shari was frustrated beyond belief. Her meeting with Abraham Obadiah didn’t go as planned, and she was no closer to decoding the CD than when she first received it.

  As she left the building, she examined the CD and let out a guttural moan of annoyance that drew the attention of those within ten feet of her.

  After picking up her weapon from the gatekeeper armory, she drove back to the JEH Building and parked the car. For a moment she fought back tears, overwhelmed with frustration. When she finally gained her composure, she grabbed her purse, got out of the car and made her way to the elevator.